


The Reckless Serenade

by snowdropintheheart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Second Person, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdropintheheart/pseuds/snowdropintheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because you want to be perfect.</p>
<p>You want them to think you are perfect.</p>
<p>But you are not.</p>
<p>You are not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reckless Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> An original piece of work I wrote while I was sitting at lecture theather. 
> 
> Warning: Causes mentions of strong self hate. Well, basically it's what it is about, so.

In your whole life you tried to be different. Still trying to be. Hoplessly. 

Even death doesn't scare you as much as the idea of being ordinary does.

The question is:

What for?

Are you an egoist? Do you have an obsession of being big? Important? Or are you that insecure that you think the only way you can make people see you, pay attention to you is being different? Why are you craving for attention? Lack of confidence again, or is it because you're a little bit narcissistic? Why are you so hungry to other people's approval? Why do you passionetely want them to like you? Maybe it's because you don't like yourself at all? 

Probably it's not just "not liking yourself", it's hate. 

You hate yourself.

Generally, you think you can live with that - block all the ways through your emotions except anger and determination and you'll be just fine. But sometimes, when you're in deep or the way you like to call, "at the high and of low", it feels like too much. You get repelled by yourself. You can't even stand the voice of your own breathe. It's interesting, isn't it? You are positive with the idea of having someone's breathe in your ear, you think it can even calm you down maybe, but you can't stand yours. You want to scream when you feel your heart is beating in your chest but you can't, because if you scream you will hear your own voice and it will make you hate yourself even more, if that's possible. 

You hate your body, the way your hair touches your face, the way the trousers you are wearing are too tight, the way the smells reach your nose, the way your brain is processing them, understanding them, the way you are sitting in your classroom alone now, the way you're holding the pen, the way you're writing. You write miserable, do you know that? You try to make everything perfect, knowing it will never be. You've never been able to control your feelings but everyday you go around and act like you are the most logical person in the room, knowing you are fucking not. You talk, talk, talk, and somehow it makes you hate yourself even more. You hate the way words come to your mind and the way you make them vocal. You hate everythig you do, because you know somebody's doing it better than you. It's impossible to satisfy you and you know it. You are obsessed with scores, numbers, perfection, the impossible a hundred percent. 

It makes you want to rip your own skin off, you know you are trying to hold on the good side, but you never really belong. You're selfish, sometimes even wicked, but still, somehow, you also can't manage to be bad properly. You're not faithful but you are not an unbeliever. Not completely. You want to have definitions, labels, but you hate them. You are lost in your paradoxes, your own voice and that's exactly why you are selfish. Your problems, your drama, your pain, you, you, you... 

That's what's wrong with you. 

You know it, but still, you can't bear other people say it. 

Because you want to be perfect. 

You want them to think you are perfect.

But you are not, you are not, you are not, you are fucking not.

And you will never be.


End file.
